


Spadix Inflorescence

by woofgender



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Food, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woofgender/pseuds/woofgender
Summary: Sam and Bucky are hit with some mysterious green goo during a mission. It's a good thing they planned for exactly this situation.Not canon-compliant with anything after CA:TWS.





	Spadix Inflorescence

**Author's Note:**

> So, almost a year ago, I decided that the sambucky tag needed more sex pollen fic. Because of who I am as a person, I also wanted to write a sex pollen fic with clearly established consent. This fic was the result.
> 
> Thanks to [AwesomeSNAFU](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeSNAFU) and tumblr user neuromagpie for providing feedback and cheerleading! This was a challenge to write for several reasons (not least of which was that it was my first real foray into writing a sex scene) and I couldn't have done it without your support.  
>  
> 
> Also, my working title was "sexy sexy plant goo."
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [ Click here for content warnings (mostly non-spoilery) in the end notes.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762511#work_endnotes)

In retrospect, the really funny thing was that they’d even talked about it before.

They were lying in bed, postcoital and relaxed, facing each other and curled together like two parentheses. Bucky had his hand resting on Sam’s hip, stroking meaningless patterns on his skin. After a minute, Sam gave this little snorting giggle and buried his face against Bucky’s chest.

“What?” Bucky said, grinning a little in reflexive response to Sam’s amusement.

“I was just thinking--you know that sci-fi trope where they go to some unexplored planet and there’s some, some plant or whatever that makes everyone all. You know.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Bucky blinked a couple of times. “So what you’re saying is I’ve been reading the wrong sci-fi.”

“I keep telling you, man, you gotta branch out past Bradbury. But you know the trope, right?”

Bucky shrugged, a difficult maneuver when lying down. 

“I was thinking”--Sam snorted again--”look, our lives are really weird. What if that happened to us?”

“Samuel Wilson,” Bucky said, “are you suggesting that we’re gonna get dosed with some kind of, of...alien sex pollen on a mission?”

“Weirder things have happened! Remember that time last month with the cactus? And the missile launcher?”

“I’ve never wished for memory loss more.”

Sam gently smacked his chest. “Shut up, man, I actually mean it now. Maybe we should talk about this, now that I think about it.”

“What, for all the alien sex plants we have to fight?” 

“Okay, fine, maybe it won’t be alien sex pollen, but what if there’s some situation like that? Can’t hurt to have ground rules, right?”

Bucky blinked. It just seemed so _obvious_ to him. “If something like that happened to me, you--I wouldn’t mind. You could do whatever you like. I trust you, Sam. Even when it does involve alien sex plants.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Bucky,” he said, “Come on. I need you to be a little more specific than ‘whatever I like.’”

“Uh,” Bucky said, and paused, his joking mood fizzling out. Setting boundaries, especially specific boundaries, still sent anxiety swirling through his guts. He was always grateful for Sam’s patience in those moments--and his willingness to push for an actual answer, when necessary. “Nothing more than we usually do, I guess? I know you’d take good care of me,” Bucky said. He leaned in and kissed the tip of Sam’s nose, which made Sam giggle, so he did it again. “What about you?”

“Same for me, man,” Sam said, and smiled. “I trust you to take care of me, too.”

Bucky blinked. “I--but,” he said, and stopped.

“But what,” Sam said, nudging him gently.

“But I’m--me. How can you--after--”

“Hey,” Sam said, “Bucky, no, hey. I do trust you. Being at someone else’s mercy like that isn’t generally my idea of a good time, but I’d rather it be with you than with pretty much anyone else. I know you’d be able to look at a situation and figure out how to take care of me. You’re a good person. I trust your judgement.”

Bucky frowned, but Sam pressed on. “You said you trust me in that kind of situation, right? Trust me on this, too. Trust that I know you won’t hurt me.”

Bucky’s throat went tight. “Wow,” he said hoarsely, “I--wow. That’s--”

“Hey,” Sam said, and reached out to stroke Bucky’s hair. 

Bucky wrapped his arms around Sam and drew him in close. “Thank you,” he whispered in Sam’s ear. “Thank you.”

And then, feeling a bit steadier, he kissed Sam’s ear, because Sam was real ticklish and it made him wiggle. Sam whacked him on the shoulder, and they briefly tussled, ending up with Sam straddling Bucky’s hips and pinning his hands to the bed (Bucky maybe wasn’t trying very hard to win). It hadn’t been that long since the last round, but when Bucky rolled his hips up into Sam’s, they were both half-hard again. Bucky did it again, and Sam inhaled sharply, bending down to kiss him thoroughly. He drew back after a moment, and then turned to whisper in Bucky’s ear: “Not to ruin the moment, and if you tell anyone about this, I’ll drop you off a building, but this idea is really doing it for me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he said, unable to hold back his grin. “You’re really into...pollination, babe?”

“Oh my _god_ , you’re the worst person on the _planet_ ,” Sam groaned.

“Oh, baby, _pollinate_ me!” Bucky moaned theatrically.

Sam shrieked and hit him in the face with a pillow. “Don’t fucking kinkshame me, Barnes!” he yelled, unable to hold back his laughter. 

__________

In retrospect, Bucky should have fucking known. And he _really_ should have asked what Sam meant, specifically, by “taking care” of him.

“Sam!” he shouted, “Duck!”

He was too late. The...whatever it was they were fighting, something Bucky had initially written off as a low-budget humanoid plant monster in a cape, raised its vine-like tentacles and squeezed the trigger of its weapon, and--Sam was standing right there--right in the path of--

Bucky thought his heart must have stopped, but something kept him moving, because he was already running flat out before the blast of green goo hit Sam full in the face. Sam stumbled back, clawing at the slime covering his mouth, and his knees gave out just as Bucky reached him. Bucky caught him and lowered him gently to the ground so that he could cradle Sam’s head in his lap, frantically trying to clear the goo away from Sam’s mouth and nose with his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve rushing to engage the villain, Natasha not far behind him.

“Sam,” Bucky said urgently, finally managing to get to the worst of the green stuff off his mouth, “c’mon, babe.” Sam coughed weakly, and a wave of relief washed over Bucky so powerfully that he felt dizzy with it. Sam swiped at his own face again, trying to pull away the sticky green slime, but it clung to his skin and smeared around. Bucky flapped his now unpleasantly gooey hands around urgently, trying to figure out what to do, then remembered--“hang on,” he said, “I’ve got a towel.” He dug in one of his belt pouches and produced the towel, which he used to gently wipe off Sam’s face. It didn’t do a perfect job, but it worked better than hands. Sam spluttered unhappily, spitting out some of the slime. Bucky made what he hoped were comforting noises and helped him sit up a little to make sure he could breathe properly. He ignored a small explosion--sounded like one of Nat’s--in the background. 

“Ugh,” Sam said, and coughed again. “Tastes nasty.” Bucky hummed sympathetically and handed him one of the little water bottles he carried. Sam grunted his thanks and swished his mouth out, spat, took a few sips, and then squirted most of the rest at his face in an effort to rinse off. It didn’t work very well. Bucky offered him a clean towel. “Boy scout,” Sam muttered, taking the towel and wiping his face again, but he’d wound his free hand into one of the straps of Bucky’s uniform and was hanging on like it was an anchor.

“C’mon,” Bucky said, “I think they’ve got this under control--” He was interrupted by Steve’s angry yell, followed by a terrible _schlorp_ sound, and Bucky looked up just in time to be hit in the face by a second blob of goo. It clung to his skin and covered his nose and mouth (Sam had been right--it did taste horrible, a bit like rotten arugula, he thought). Through the rushing in his ears, Bucky heard Sam swear loudly, and then he felt one of the towels swab at his face. Once Sam had cleared the worst of the slime off him, Bucky opened his eyes and took the towel to finish wiping himself off.

“Sorry, Buck!” Steve called from where he and Nat were working together to handcuff the caped asshole who’d done this. “Kinda thought you’d dodge that!”

Bucky flipped him off. “C’mon, Sam,” he said, “I think they’ve got this now. Let’s go home.”

Of course, they couldn’t go home right away. First, they had to get cleaned up in the decontamination showers--it took a lot of scrubbing to get all of the slime off, and some of their gear was probably a lost cause. Then, the medics in the Tower insisted on checking Sam over, and even when they couldn’t find anything wrong beyond normal post-battle exhaustion, they wanted to keep him for observation. (They’d made noises about examining Bucky as well, but he’d, well. He’d made excuses about the serum and immunity, because he was pretty sure it was just slime and, after watching Sam get shot, he felt shaky enough to know that any examination would probably send him into a meltdown. Besides, Sam was _fine_ , and he didn’t even have the serum.) Sam, leaning on Bucky’s shoulder, groaned in fatigue and exasperation. They were back in civilian clothes, but he was hanging on to a fold of Bucky’s jacket now, which made something in Bucky’s chest go all wiggly and embarrassed and pleased. 

“I can take him home and keep an eye on him there,” Bucky said, as firmly as he could. He _hated_ contradicting doctors. 

“Mister Barnes,” one of the doctors said, in that patient, condescending voice that always set Bucky’s teeth on edge. “We still don’t know what the substance is--”

“But you said you can’t find anything wrong with him.”

“Well, no, but--”

“I can monitor him at home. I know how. We don’t live that far away.” Sam pushed his face into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky wrapped an arm around him protectively, trying to ignore how this made the wiggly thing in his chest practically vibrate. 

The doctor looked at Bucky over his glasses. “Fine,” he said eventually, “but bring him back for a check-up tomorrow, or right away if anything changes.”

Bucky nodded. “C’mon,” he said to Sam, “you ready to go?”

“Mff,” Sam said, and pressed closer.

“You want me to carry you?”

“Mm. No. I can walk.” 

They took a cab home, since Sam seemed a little unsteady on his feet. By the time they reached their building, he was yawning enormously--maybe even a little theatrically. Bucky paid the driver and helped Sam out of the cab. Sam slumped against him, twining his arms around Bucky’s neck.

“You want me to carry you now?” Bucky asked, amused. 

Sam nodded, so Bucky stood, slid his hands under Sam’s thighs, and hoisted him up. Sam wrapped his his legs around Bucky’s hips and settled contentedly against his chest. Bucky felt a jolt of arousal, but firmly told himself to wait. Sam was tired, and they were in public. 

He carried Sam into their building and took the elevator up to their floor. Fortunately, none of the other tenants were around to see him carrying his sleepy boyfriend home in broad daylight. Bucky had to do a little juggling to get his keys out, but managed to get their door open and get inside without putting Sam down. He locked and bolted the door behind him. 

Bucky made to put Sam down, but Sam made a protesting noise and clung to him more tightly. “Sam,” Bucky said patiently, “I gotta do a sweep. Then we can cuddle some more.”

Sam grumbled, but let Bucky set him down on the couch. Bucky checked the apartment for signs of intrusion, verified that all his security measures were still in place, and returned to Sam, who had piled up throw pillows to make himself a sort of nest on the couch and looked supremely comfortable.

“Hi, babe,” Bucky said, smiling. “Want some food?”

“Mmm. Yeah, I could eat something,” Sam said, smirking at Bucky, cutting his gaze down over Bucky’s body so that his meaning was unmistakable.

“Hah hah,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes and pretending Sam’s expression hadn’t sent an unusually strong shiver of want through him. They didn’t usually have sex right after a mission; as much as they both appreciated the other’s competence in battle, they also both needed time to come down afterwards. Bucky was especially susceptible to post-mission hypervigilance, and they were both prone to somatic flashbacks as the adrenaline wore off, so they had developed a routine together--showers, food, nature documentaries, cuddling--to help them both feel safe. It wasn’t all that unusual for them to tease each other a little, but it wasn’t necessarily part of the routine.

Bucky went into the kitchen. “You want leftover Thai food? I think we still have some.”

“No, Steve ate it all,” Sam called from the living room.

“That asshole,” Bucky said, with feeling. “Sandwiches, then?”

They ate their sandwiches sitting on the couch, watching a documentary about elephants. Sam ate quickly, while Bucky consumed his at a more sedate pace. He could feel Sam staring at him--not watching the documentary, just staring. 

“What?” Bucky mumbled, through a mouthful of sandwich. “I got something on my face?”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said, dreamily. “You gotta...thing.”

Bucky rubbed at his cheek. “A what?”

“Here, lemme get it,” Sam said, and leaned in--and planted a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky felt his face heat. “All better,” Sam said, looking supremely proud of himself.

“Are you sayin’ something was wrong with my face?”

“Uh-uh,” Sam said, “no. S’beautiful. Good face.” He patted Bucky on the cheek, as if to prove his point. 

“Uh,” Bucky said, feeling himself flush even harder, “Sam?”

Sam patted his cheek again. “You’re blushing!” he exclaimed. Bucky covered his cheeks with his hands, embarrassed but terribly fond.

“Sam,” he tried again, “are you feeling okay?”

“Sure,” Sam said, smiling so sweetly that Bucky felt his heart speed up. Sam’s pupils were enormous.

Bucky shook his head. He had to focus. It was so warm in their apartment, and Sam smelled so good. “I mean it,” he said. “I think I know what that, that green stuff does. I think you’re being...affected.”

Sam shrugged. “Dunno.” He scooted over to get closer to Bucky. Bucky scooted away. Sam’s face fell, and Bucky immediately felt like a heel. 

“Sam,” he said, as serious as he could make it, “please. Are you okay?”

Sam huffed a frustrated sigh, but the dreamy look in his eyes cleared a little. “Yeah. Little warm. I feel good, though. Kinda floaty.”

“Huh,” Bucky said. “I guess I really should take you back to the Tower.”

“...but?” Sam prompted, hopeful.

“But it seems like you’re just...drunk, or doped up, or something, and I don’t wanna make you go through a bunch of tests for them to shrug and say they don’t know what it is.”

Sam looked pleased. He scooted closer to Bucky again, and this time, Bucky didn’t move away.

“You gotta promise me, though. Tell me if you feel sick, or, or bad, or whatever, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said.

“I mean it,” Bucky said, trying to sound serious and firm. 

“I know,” Sam said, impatient. “Me too. I just--I just wanna cuddle, Barnes, jesus.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, and felt himself blush again. It really was warm in their apartment. “O-okay, yeah. We can do that.” He mentally chastised himself for assuming that Sam wanted sex. Of course he just wanted to cuddle. That was what they normally did.

Sam sort of draped himself onto Bucky, who froze, unsure what to do with his hands. Sam wiggled around for a minute, trying to get comfortable, until he finally laid down on his side and put his head in Bucky’s lap. He wrapped his arms around Bucky and curled his body in.

Bucky smiled down at him. “Comfy, sweetheart?” he asked, resting a hand on Sam’s back. Sam nodded. Bucky felt unexpectedly choked up, and blinked rapidly. Sam was just--so kind, so trusting. So _good_. Bucky stroked gently over Sam’s hair with his prosthetic hand. Sam made a sleepy, happy noise, and Bucky suppressed a shiver. 

After a few minutes, Sam drifted off into a doze, snoring softly. Bucky let himself relax. This might turn out to be easier than he’d thought it would be. Apart from seeming a little strange and silly, like he was drunk, Sam didn’t seem to be in any kind of danger. All Bucky had to do was keep him that way. Plus, it was just so easy and warm and pleasant, sitting here with Sam’s head in his lap. It felt so good to touch him. 

By the time the documentary ended, Sam had started to stir. He mumbled something unintelligible against Bucky’s thigh and pressed his face closer in to Bucky’s crotch. “Hey,” Bucky said, biting back a gasp, “buy a guy a drink first.”

Sam looked up at him, eyes hooded. “Yeah?”

“Sam,” Bucky said, worried again, “are you okay?”

“You already asked me that,” Sam said. He sounded irritated.

“I know, babe,” Bucky said. “But I gotta check. Your pupils are huge and you’re actin’ like--like--”

“Like what?” Sam said, holding Bucky’s gaze. “Like I want your dick in me?”

“Uh,” Bucky said, trying to hide his reaction to those words--and then, when Sam slid a hand up Bucky’s thigh and onto his crotch, “wait!” 

Sam pulled his hand back immediately. “Fuck,” he said, “I’m so sorry. Christ.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said. “I’m not--mad, or upset, or anything. You just startled me.” Sam’s shoulders slumped in visible relief. “But Sam,” Bucky continued, “you--it’s like that thing, the alien plant, uh, sex thing you were talking about a few weeks ago. This has to be the stuff you got shot with. You, you aren’t usually like--this,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

“What,” Sam said, sitting up and frowning. “You think I don’t usually want to have sex with you?” For all that his pupils were enormous, he seemed less foggy, more clear-headed than he had been before he dozed off. Maybe he’d just needed a nap?

“I mean I don’t know if this is you or that green goo talking. I don’t--I don’t wanna hurt you, Sam.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not _that_ big.”

“ _Sam_.”

“What? It’s not.”

“You’ve never complained before.” 

“M’not complaining about anything. Just making an observation.” 

“Fuck you, Wilson,” Bucky said, amused--and, despite himself, more than a little aroused. He shifted a little, resisting the urge to adjust himself in his pants.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Sam replied. 

Bucky glared at him. “Are you trying to piss me off until I have sex with you?”

“Is it working?” 

“Ugh,” Bucky said, and put his head in his hands. “You’re impossible.” 

Sam patted him on the shoulder. Bucky gave him a suspicious look. Sam grinned at him.

“How are you so much more coherent than you were earlier, anyway? Is it wearing off?” Bucky asked.

Sam gave him a long, inscrutable look. “I don’t think so, no,” he said, after a minute.

“But why don’t you think so, if you’re so much more awake?”

Sam raised his eyebrows in a way that was probably supposed to be meaningful. Bucky raised his own in response. Sam rolled his eyes and then deliberately looked down. Bucky followed his gaze, and--

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Dammit, now both of them were blushing. And were similarly...inconvenienced, apparently. “So, uh, it’s still having an effect? Just not on your thinking?”

“Guess so,” Sam said. “So. You gonna help?”

“Uh,” Bucky. “Let me. Um. I’m gonna go get a drink of water.” He could feel Sam’s gaze on him as he went into the kitchen. He tried very hard to walk normally, and not like a person with a raging erection, but based on Sam’s poorly stifled giggle, he was pretty sure that his hunched waddle was obvious.

Bucky gingerly leaned up against the counter and drank his glass of water and frowned in thought. Sam said he wanted sex, and was acting like he wanted sex, but he just didn’t know how either of them could be certain, even now when Sam was a little more coherent. Unbidden, an image of Sam sober and furious came to his mind, and he swallowed around a wave of nausea--and more than a bit of horror, since even that didn’t make his erection falter. If he did this wrong, Sam might never talk to him again, and he’d be justified in it. At the same time, Bucky knew too well what it was like to need something and be denied it, to listen to those responsible for his care ignore his needs and deny that he was even capable of knowing those needs. 

Bucky mentally ran through their conversation from several weeks before, trying to remember if there were any clues he could use now. _I trust your judgment_ , Sam had said.

God, he hoped Sam was right.

He drained the rest of his glass, set it down, and pushed himself off the counter. He could hear muffled rustling noises in the living room.

“Sam?” he said, exiting the kitchen, “you okay--oh my _god_.”

Sam had been busy while he’d been in the kitchen. He’d managed to wriggle out of most of his clothes, and was sprawled out facedown on the couch, one hand shoved into his underwear. 

“Sam!” Bucky exclaimed, “I bought that couch new! It was _expensive!_ ”

Sam looked up at him and grinned lazily, looking supremely self-satisfied. “Yeah,” he said, “I can tell. It’s real soft.”

Bucky inadvertently squawked in outrage. “That’s--what--no. That’s it. We’re moving this conversation to a place with sheets, proper sheets, which I can wash afterwards.” He scooped Sam up, hands under his thighs, and headed for the bedroom.

Sam was giggling, face pressed against Bucky’s collarbone. “For such a caveman, you’re real fussy,” he said.

“What do you mean, caveman?” Bucky asked, trying to ignore the effect that holding Sam’s mostly naked body was having on him.

“Carryin’ me off to your bedroom, all strong and growly and shit,” Sam said. He petted Bucky’s biceps a little. “S’okay, though. I like it.” 

“You’re such a dork,” Bucky said, grinning, even as Sam rolled his hips down, making him gasp.

“No, you,” Sam shot back.

Bucky smiled, helplessly fond. “So does this come and go in cycles, then?” Sam looked at him blankly. “The effects of the green stuff,” Bucky clarified. “Is it making it hard to think again?”

“Dunno,” Sam said, sounding genuinely confused, which sort of answered the question anyway. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Bucky said. “I’m gonna take care of you. You don’t have to worry about anything.” He pushed their bedroom door open with his foot and walked inside, setting Sam down gently on the bed. 

Sam sat up and looked up at him, pupils blown. It was hard to tell, especially in the dim light of their bedroom, but Bucky was pretty sure Sam was blushing. 

A wave of fierce protectiveness and affection washed through Bucky. “God, I love you,” he blurted out.

Sam was _definitely_ blushing now, but he shrugged nonchalantly and said, “You’re okay.”

Bucky widened his eyes in exaggerated disbelief, and then burst out laughing so hard that he stumbled forward. Sam reached up and pulled Bucky down into a kiss. Bucky vaguely remembered that he was supposed to be careful for some reason, but Sam’s mouth was warm and wet against his, and then Sam’s tongue was in his mouth, and then Sam tangled a hand in Bucky’s hair and _pulled_ , and Bucky got a little distracted. He just-- _wanted_ Sam, like every cell in his body was yearning to be as close as possible. It was intense, even more than it usually was between them.

After a few minutes, Bucky pulled back to catch his breath, feeling a little dizzy and overwhelmed. Sam, sprawled out on the bed beneath him, made a vague noise of protest and tried to pull Bucky back down. Bucky didn’t follow his urging, though; he paused and really looked at Sam for a moment. Looked at his _face_ , because at some point, Sam had managed to get out of his underwear.Sam’s pupils were enormous and his eyes were unfocused. He seemed...drugged. 

Bucky sighed and rolled off Sam, flopping down onto his back. He covered his face with his hands, hoping that this would be easier if he couldn’t see Sam. He could still feel Sam’s warmth, though, still smell him, still hear his breathing.

“Sam,” Bucky said plaintively, “what do I do?”

“Hey,” Sam said, “what’s wrong?” He pushed himself into a sitting position and gently pulled one of Bucky’s hands away from his face. Sam looked down at Bucky with a worried expression. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Bucky frowned back up at him. “Sam, I--you’re, you’re drugged, or something. From whatever that plant goo was. I can’t. Not right now.”

If anything, Sam looked more worried. “Bucky,” he said, “I’m not that far gone. I mean--I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”

Bucky winced. That wasn’t the point--of _course_ he wanted this. “Sam,” he said, “it wouldn’t be right. I promised I’d take care of you. I’m not gonna break that promise.” He made himself climb off the bed and stand next to it, but couldn’t make himself move farther away than that. 

Sam looked bereft, shoulders slumping. Something in Bucky’s chest squeezed painfully. “I’m not--I just--” Bucky stammered, trying to get the words out properly. His tongue felt heavy and uncooperative. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Sam said, and reached a hand out. Bucky took it, and stepped back toward Sam, feeling like he was drawn by some sort of magnetic force. Sam put his other hand on Bucky’s hip, and Bucky leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I know,” Sam said again. “D’you remember? I trust you.” 

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like he might cry.

“No, baby, don’t do that,” Sam said, “look at me.” Bucky obediently opened his eyes and looked down at Sam, who was staring up at him. Sam’s eyes were wide, wide and a little sleepy, and Bucky got a bit fixated staring at Sam’s long eyelashes. He was so gorgeous.

“Y’r eyes,” Sam said softly. He tilted his head a little, narrowing his own eyes.

“My eyes?” Bucky replied, uncomprehending.

“Pupils,” Sam said, “all...swallowed. Swelled up.” He frowned. “No blue.” He reached up and put a hand on Bucky’s face, framing the side of his head.

Bucky leaned into the contact, feeling like he was floating a little, but some kind of internal alarm was going off. There was something about pupils. Something he was supposed to remember. It was just so hot in the room, and so hard to think, especially with Sam touching him, Sam’s other hand resting on his hip, Sam’s warm soft skin that smelled so good…

“Oh,” Sam said. “You’re drugged, too.”

Bucky jerked away so hard he fell backwards, landing on his ass with a thunk. The pain didn’t register over the mounting terror consuming his brain.

“Bucky? Are you okay?” he heard Sam ask over the rushing in his ears. Sam was still on the bed, peering down at where Bucky was sprawled on the floor.

“I gotta. Uh. Go? To the bathroom,” Bucky stammered. He stood up--a process that took way too much effort--and staggered over to the en suite. 

Hurriedly, he locked the door behind him. He had to keep himself from getting to Sam. _Okay. Okay. Breathe._ Bucky braced his hands on the counter by the sink and, dreading what he might see, examined his own reflection. Sure enough, the blue-grey of his eyes had been almost completely swallowed up by black. 

“Shit,” he muttered. What was he going to do? Sam was alone, and he might need help, but Bucky couldn’t go back out there. He had to stay in the bathroom. That’s why he’d locked--he could--he could be dangerous--

His reflection went blurry, and his head swam. Bucky grabbed at the counter for balance, barely remembering to use his right hand so he didn’t break it, and then his knees gave out and he sat down hard on the tiled floor. He tipped his head back against the wall and and squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenched in his lap and breath hissing too fast between his teeth. 

“Bucky?” he heard Sam call softly from the other side of the door. He sounded almost plaintive. Definitely distressed. “You okay? Did I--did I hurt you?”

The sound of his voice made something in Bucky’s chest clench painfully. “It. I. It wasn’t you,” he choked out. His throat hurt and his eyes were stinging. He’d made Sam upset, and Sam was _sad_ , and Bucky was the _worst person_.

“Then why are you in there?” There was a soft thump on the other side of the door, like Sam had leaned up against it.

“I,” Bucky started, before his breath caught on a sob. He tried to disguise it with a cough. “I’m dangerous,” he finally got out. 

There was a long moment of silence from the other side of the door. Then--”Bullshit,” Sam said. 

“Uh. What?”

“You heard me. Open the damn door, Barnes.”

Bucky pushed himself up into a kneeling position and knee-walked over to the door. His hand shook when he reached up to open it, and as soon as it was unlatched, he scooted back and sat down against the wall again.

Sam walked into the bathroom. Bucky looked down, avoiding his gaze, but Sam sat down next to Bucky, so close that their thighs brushed whenever one of them shifted. Sam had put on a pair of sweatpants-- _a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants_ , his treacherous, apparently drugged brain emphasized--so at least he wasn’t so naked. (Bucky refused to acknowledge how disappointed he was.)

“So, Barnes,” Sam said, staring straight ahead, “you want to explain why you ran away?”

Bucky hung his head. “I’m sorry. I. I am also being. Affected. By the green...stuff. It’s--not safe.”

“Why not?”

“I might. I could hurt you. Force you to--” Bucky’s words dried up and he ground his teeth in frustration.

But Sam reached out and took his hand--the metal hand, since he was sitting on Bucky’s left--in his own. He brought it up to his lips and brushed a kiss over Bucky’s knuckles, and then held it there while he talked. “Bucky,” he said, “when you ran in here, I thought--I was scared that I was forcing you.”

Bucky turned to stare at him.

Sam shook his head. “But you want this?”

Something cracked open in Bucky’s chest. “Sam,” he said urgently, turning and cupping Sam’s cheek with his free hand. “Please, yes, Sam, I want this--”

Sam leapt to his feet and pulled Bucky up with him. He was grinning the same way he did when he flew, an expression that made Bucky’s stomach swoop with both nerves and love.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Sam asked. 

Bucky eagerly followed Sam back into the bedroom. Sam smelled _so good_ , and his hand was warm in Bucky’s, and then there they were, next to the bed. Sam dropped Bucky’s hand--Bucky couldn’t quite manage to stifle a whimper at that--and then stripped out of the sweatpants. Bucky’s mouth went dry, eyes drawn to Sam’s belly, to the lines of muscle leading down. Bucky yanked off his own shirt and stripped off his pants and underwear in one go. Sam’s gaze moved up Bucky’s body, and when it reached his face, Sam gave him a slow, knowing smile that made Bucky curl his toes into the carpet. Sam sat down with exaggerated prim grace on the edge of the bed. 

Unhesitatingly, Bucky knelt in front of him. He reached up to put his hands on Sam’s thighs, but paused and made eye contact first, waiting until Sam gave him a little nod before he touched. He ran his hands up Sam’s powerful thighs, then pushed himself up on his knees to kiss Sam.

Sam leaned into the kiss, humming a little pleased note. After a moment, he reached out--pausing and waiting for a nod, just like Bucky had--and pushed his fingers into Bucky’s hair. Bucky made a deeply embarrassing squeaky noise and pressed closer, until he was almost straddling one of Sam’s calves.

He felt Sam smile into the kiss, and then Sam pushed that calf forward slightly, until it brushed against Bucky’s inner thighs. Bucky whined and pulled back from the kiss, panting. 

Sam smirked down at Bucky, clearly knowing the effect he was having, and then slowly, carefully pressed _up_. 

Bucky gasped. He felt his eyes roll back in his head, and the fiery heat in his blood roared, threatening to take him over--but he could feel Sam’s amusement and that, at least, was familiar. They’d done this a lot when they first started sleeping together, before they’d admitted to each other that it was more than sex--competing with each other, trying to wind the other up in every context, including in bed. It’d been a way to hide how they felt, to disguise it behind jokes and teasing and one-upmanship. 

Well, Bucky knew how to win this game. He kneeled up enough to take some of the pressure off his groin, bent over, and swallowed Sam’s cock down. He choked a little, but determinedly pushed through it, bobbing his head down as far as it would go. 

Sam made an undignified, garbled noise and dropped his leg back down, hands clenching in the sheets. Bucky flicked his gaze up and found that Sam was staring down at him. Bucky winked at him and reached for his hands, tugging them toward his head. Sam quickly got the message and tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, sending uncontrolled shivers down Bucky’s spine, and Bucky moved his own hands back to Sam’s hips, thumbs rubbing circles over the soft, warm skin there. Sam tentatively rolled his hips up a little, and then again when Bucky moaned in encouragement. He loved doing this, loved being able to make Sam feel good like this.

Then Sam tugged on his hair a little, and Bucky’s vision whited out. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, thrusting against nothing, and he came completely untouched, all over his own belly and a little on the carpet. He pulled off Sam’s cock, gasping for air. “Oh, god,” he rasped, hips still twitching through the aftershocks.

Sam’s eyebrows were raised so far that they might as well have been trying to escape his face, and his eyes were wide and dark. As soon as Bucky had pulled back, Sam had started jerking himself off, and his hand was moving faster and faster. “Jesus, Barnes,” he grated out, “ _fuck_ , I-- _oh_ \--” He went silent, mouth open and head tilted back, coming on his hand and belly and more than a little on Bucky’s face.

Breathing hard, Sam looked back down at Bucky. “Fuck,” he panted, “that was--I hope you can get it up again soon. That was _incredible_.” 

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. The words wouldn’t come. Sam understood, though, and petted Bucky’s hair gently, which helped him settle a little. He leaned his head against Sam’s thigh. Sam handed him a tissue, and he wiped off his face. Bucky glanced down, then, and-- “Oh, god, the carpet,” he said, a moment of mental clarity apparently unsticking his words. 

Sam laughed. “We can clean the carpet, Barnes, god.”

Bucky laughed hoarsely and pressed closer, blinking to try to clear the fog of arousal from his brain. “Sam,” he said, and put his right hand, palm up, on Sam’s lap. “Was that okay?”

Sam took his hand unhesitatingly, and gently squeezed. “It was great, baby,” he said, still running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, but he forced them open again.

“How are you feeling? Are you thirsty? I can go get you--” 

“Bucky,” Sam said, and Bucky could hear the laughter in his voice. “Get up here.” 

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled up onto the bed, barely avoiding kneeing Sam in the ribs. His limbs were all clumsy and uncoordinated, but Sam seemed just as bad off--when Bucky shifted his weight onto the bed, Sam tipped over and fell back onto the mattress, giggling. Bucky crawled over him, grinning. Sam’s mood was infectious. 

Sam reached up and pulled Bucky on top of him. A shiver ran down Bucky’s spine at all that skin-to-skin contact, and he pressed himself closer. Sam kissed his neck, making Bucky shiver again, and Bucky could feel it when Sam smiled. 

“You can go again?” Sam said, his words an eager puff of air against Bucky’s skin.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky said. He could usually go a couple of times on a good night. He wasn’t Steve, who (if Bucky’s shaky memory was any guide) had been a walking erection machine all over the Western Front. Bucky had the serum, too, but he also had eleven different prescription medications, some of which worked and most of which suppressed libido, which meant that he ended up with a stamina that Sam called _cuddly normal_. But right now, his whole body felt like a live wire. He thought he could probably go again _forever_ , especially if Sam kept touching him.

“Good,” Sam said, and then bit down gently on Bucky’s neck. Bucky whined and rolled his hips against Sam’s. Sam ran his hands down Bucky’s back to his ass, and then pulled his hips forward again, starting a slow, lazy rhythm as he sucked a bruise into existence on Bucky’s neck.

“God. Sam,” Bucky gasped. Both of them were breathing faster, and their skin was hot and sweat-slick. He grabbed at Sam’s hips and rolled them so Sam was on top of him, then licked his right palm and reached between their bodies. Sam had apparently recovered almost as fast, and when Bucky touched his cock, he made a high, urgent noise. 

“C’mon, Sam, babe, _god_ , you feel so good. Can I, please, can I--” Bucky babbled, kissing at Sam’s face and neck and wherever he could reach.

Sam kissed him back sloppily, one hand reaching out toward the bedside table and scrabbling around for something. He made a muffled triumphant noise against Bucky’s mouth and sat up, holding up a bottle of lube.

Bucky nodded vigorously, eyes wide as Sam grabbed his flesh hand and poured lube onto it. Sam snapped the bottle shut and tossed it aside, bending back down to kiss Bucky. Bucky reached between them again, wrapping his slippery hand around Sam. Sam shuddered against him, pushing frantically into his hand, and then came just like that, pulling back from the kiss to moan and pant. Bucky watched Sam’s face as he came, watched his eyes fall shut and mouth fall open, and then Bucky was coming, too, rutting his cock up against Sam’s belly, now slick with sweat and come. 

They lay there for a moment and just breathed, Sam slumped on top of Bucky. Bucky went to pull his now-sticky hand away, but Sam grabbed his wrist. “Can you--” Sam gasped out, and ground his hips down against Bucky’s. He was still hard. There was something weird about that, but Bucky couldn’t remember why, and it seemed supremely unimportant when Sam was naked and hard on top of him.

“Do you want to--me between your legs, like--” Sam stammered out, rolling off Bucky to one side and gently pushing at his shoulder. 

“Fuck,” Bucky said coherently, and obediently rolled onto his side, wiping his sticky hand absently against the bedsheets. There was a click behind him, and then Sam’s fingers, cold and slippery--he must have found the lube bottle somewhere--were touching his inner thighs, slicking them up, making him _ready_. Bucky whined involuntarily, hips twitching at the thought.

“C’mon,” Sam said from behind him, pushing his legs together. Bucky’s brain got with the program after a moment, and he squeezed his thighs together. He looked down to see Sam’s cock pushing between his thighs. Sam put a hand on his hip to anchor himself, kissed the back of Bucky’s shoulder, and slowly pulled back and then pushed in again. Bucky could feel Sam’s breath hot against his neck, his chest pressed against his back, and Bucky’s hands grabbed spasmodically at the sheets, trying to find an anchor against the sensations. Sam’s cock was rubbing against his balls, and everything was warm and wet and _good_. Then Sam’s hand moved from his hip to palm his cock, and Bucky’s vision whited out as he came. He heard Sam curse quietly behind him, and felt Sam’s hips jerk as he came, too.

After that, time started to move in skips and jumps. Bucky surfaced occasionally, long enough to form soft, impressionistic images--Sam’s mouth on him and Sam’s hands stroking over his hips, gentle as Bucky sobbed in pleasure; Sam gasping and his back arching as Bucky pressed a vibrating toy against his perineum; both of them in the bathroom, taking turns to drink from the tap; Sam’s fingers in his hair, gently stroking. All of the images were little more than vivid fragments tossed on a sea of overwhelming pleasure, and finally, spent and exhausted, they fell asleep.

__________

Bucky woke up when his stomach growled. His eyes popped open--he never had much of a transition between sleep and waking these days--but fortunately, he stopped himself from sitting up, because Sam was stretched out almost entirely on top of him, face pressed into Bucky’s chest and snoring gently. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, and everywhere it touched Sam, his skin seemed to glow. Bucky’s breath caught, and he stared unabashedly. It was still sometimes hard to believe that this was where he’d ended up, that it wasn’t all a dream.

Lying like this, Bucky could feel when Sam’s breathing shifted and he started to wake up. Sam shifted, flexing his hands and nuzzling against Bucky’s chest affectionately. 

“G’mrrrrr--mmmmg,” Sam mumbled, yawning halfway through the word. “Wh’ time?”

“Dunno,” Bucky replied, and yawned as well. He started gently massaging Sam’s neck, and Sam made a happy grumbling noise.

“Mmm. You keep doing that, and I’m gonna go back to sleep right here,” Sam said, and then, “Hey. Lemme up, I gotta pee.” 

Bucky let go of him, and Sam started to sit up, but abruptly stopped, wincing. “What the--” Sam mumbled. “Are we stuck together? With dried...ugh.” 

Bucky lifted his head and looked down at where their skin was sticking together, and with that, the memories of last night came crashing back. “Oh, god,” he said, covering his face with his hands and dropping his head back onto the pillow. 

He felt it when Sam pulled away--it stung a little, but it really wasn’t that bad. When he heard the bathroom door shut, Bucky rolled onto his side and curled up, still covering his face, trying to sort through his racing thoughts. They’d both been hit by the plant thing, and Sam had been...affected...first. Bucky could remember, now, thinking he was immune because of the serum, and then realizing he wasn’t, and then Sam and he had fucked, and neither of them had been sober, and _what if Sam hated him now, he’d have every right--_

The mattress dented next to him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Bucky? Is the light bothering you? I can close the curtains.”

God. Sam probably thought he had a migraine. Sam was being kind and gentle, and Bucky was just lying there, _useless_ , he didn’t deserve this. He pulled his hands off his face reluctantly and shook his head, though he couldn’t bring himself to look up at Sam.

“Did--” Sam hesitated. “You know you can tell me if you I did something you didn’t want, right? I won’t be mad.” 

“ _No_ ,” Bucky exclaimed, too loud and emphatic. Sam visibly startled. “Sorry,” he said more quietly, “no, of course, I--I was the one who--took advantage--”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Barnes,” Sam said. “We had this damn talk _last night_.”

“But you were drugged last night, Sam, I couldn’t know for sure--”

“--and we’d already negotiated it when we were stone-cold sober.”

“But--”

Sam threw his hands up. “Jesus, Barnes, give me some damn credit and believe that I can make my own decisions!”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, realizing what he’d done. _Catastrophizing_ , his therapist called it, when he started thinking that everything was awful and couldn’t see a way out of the situation. He took a long, slow breath, and then another, and then opened his eyes again. This time, he made himself look up at Sam--at one of his ears, at least, so he could see changes in Sam’s expressions.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “I wasn’t listening.” Sam’s expression softened, so he pressed on. “I just. I don’t ever want to hurt you, babe, not ever again.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” Sam said, and put a hand on Bucky’s face. Bucky leaned into the touch, couldn’t help it. Sam bent and kissed his forehead, and then his mouth, and then Bucky wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him down onto the bed. Sam went willingly, and then Bucky was kissing him and kissing him, murmuring “I love you” in the gaps between kisses. Sam felt so good, and almost before he knew it, Bucky was half-hard and pressing hopefully against Sam’s thigh.

Sam pulled back a little and gave him a skeptical look. “Really? Again, after last night?”

Bucky gave him his best shit-eating grin. “You’re irresistible, Sammy.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we’re doing it in the shower and you’re making me breakfast. And,” he added, when Bucky’s face lit up, “you’re brushing your teeth first, dickbreath.” With that, he rolled off the bed and headed back into the bathroom.

Bucky gaped after him. “It’s your dick!” he shouted. “Maybe you should wash it more!”

Sam flipped him off without looking back. Bucky untangled himself from the sheets and followed Sam. 

When he was brushing his teeth (because he had _normal_ _morning breath, Sam, shut up_ ), Sam leaned against the counter next to him. “I am glad, though, you know,” he said after a minute.

Bucky, mouth full of toothpaste, raised his eyebrows.

“Glad you actually wanted it. I know, I know,” Sam said, holding up a hand, “practicing what I preach and all that. I gotta believe you can make your decisions. S’just hard not to worry in that kind of situation, especially given...well.” 

Bucky spat in the sink. “Given who I am,” he said.

“Given what was done to you,” Sam replied smoothly. “I don’t want to hurt you either.” 

“I know,” Bucky said. The thing was, he really did. “Sam,” he said, and then paused, thinking about how to phrase it. Sam waited patiently. “I--I spent a lot of my life being out of control of my body in one way or another. Having to do that again...I’d rather do that with you than with anyone else.” 

Sam swallowed, and his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Not even Steve, huh?”

“God, no, he’s _way_ too dramatic,” Bucky exclaimed, hoping to make Sam smile again.

Sam laughed, and turned away to start the shower running. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “God, can you even imagine? He’d probably pull some self-sacrificial bullshit and just sit there until his boner killed him.”

Bucky laughed, too, and moved closer so he could enfold Sam in a hug. Sam returned it, pressing his lips against Bucky’s temple, like he understood everything Bucky couldn’t say, couldn’t find the words to express. 

Well, there was one thing he could say.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured in Sam’s ear. 

“Love you too,” Sam replied, and held him a little tighter. 

__________

After the shower, Bucky had to brush his teeth again--not that he was complaining, going down on Sam was one of his favorite things in the world--so he emerged from the bedroom a couple of minutes after Sam. He’d thought he’d heard Sam talking to someone, so he put on boxers first.

Sam was standing in the kitchen, arms folded, and staring into the living room, where--

“Steve,” Bucky said, “what the fuck are you doing on our couch?”

“Good morning, Bucky,” Steve said cheerfully, folding the newspaper he was reading. _Seriously, a physical fucking newspaper_ , Bucky thought.

“Again. What the fuck are you doing on our couch? Wait, how did you get in?”

Steve looked at him blankly. “You were the one who gave me a key so I could water your plants when you were out of town.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ how he’s been getting in,” Sam muttered, turning away to switch on the coffee maker. 

Bucky kept staring at him, but quickly discovered what Sam must have been learning when Bucky arrived, as Steve pulled out his newspaper and started reading again. Bucky marched over and pushed down the top of the paper. “Steve,” he said, “what.”

“Oh, you know,” Steve said, “I was in the neighborhood, you weren’t answering your phone, doctors said something about how you weren’t answering their calls either and they needed to check on you, the usual.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. From the kitchen, frowning into the open fridge, Sam said, “We don’t have enough food for all three of us. Because _someone_ ate all our leftovers.”

Steve looked uncharacteristically unconcerned about a lack of food. “No, I already ate. Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, grinning up at Bucky with a suspiciously innocent expression. “The doctors said something about... _chafing_.”

Bucky felt himself blush to the roots of his hair. “Steve!” he exclaimed, resisting the urge to cover his own face. 

“Oh, come on, Steve, we know how to use lube,” Sam called from the kitchen. “Bucky, did you end up cleaning the couch after we did that thing with the--”

“Well!” Steve almost shouted, springing to his feet. “Would you look at the time.” He glanced down theatrically at his empty wrist. “I’ll just be, uh, going now. Home. And burning these pants, probably.” 

Bucky followed him to the apartment door, trying not to laugh. At the door, Steve turned to look at him. “You’re really okay?” he asked. “And Sam?”

Bucky smiled. “Yeah,” he said, “we’re great.” And, he realized, he really meant it. 

“We’re the best,” Sam said, coming up behind Bucky.

Steve grinned in delight, gathering Bucky to him in a bone-crushing hug. He released him after a moment to embrace Sam, only a little more carefully. “I’m really happy for you both,” he said, “but please, for the love of god, never let me sit on your jizz couch again.” And with that, he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky bit his lip, staring down at the floor, until he heard the elevator door shut behind Steve. Then, and only then, he turned to Sam. They had barely made eye contact when they both burst out laughing. 

“ _Jizz couch_ ,” Sam gasped, “god, that’s a disgusting combination of words.”

Bucky was bent over, clutching his knees and wheezing with laughter. “Chafing!” he squeaked.

“It’s just too easy,” Sam said, wiping at his eyes. “God. Now I really need breakfast.”

Bucky followed him into the kitchen, still giggling, and helped Sam make scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. He’d almost forgotten how hungry he was, and now it returned with a vengeance, reminding him of how much energy he’d spent last night. Sam was clearly hungry, too, and for a while, they devoted their attention to food.

Once there was little more than a few crumbs remaining on their plates, Sam put his coffee mug down. “You know,” he said contemplatively, “it’s not even really a jizz couch.”

“Mrrffff!” Bucky said, and then swallowed and coughed. “God. Why did you say that when I had a mouthful of coffee?”

Sam winked at him. “You know the couch cover comes off and can be put in the wash, right?”

“Oh,” Bucky said, sitting up a little straighter. “ _Oh_. Now?”

“God, no,” Sam said, “I think I’ve come enough for a week in the last twenty-four hours. You wanna cuddle?” He held out a hand. 

And without hesitation--how could he hesitate, when it was Sam?--Bucky took it. 

**Author's Note:**

> __________
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on tumblr as woofgender. Yes, the title is a joke about literal plant boners.
> 
>  
> 
> __________
> 
> Content warnings: brief mild violence, food, brief mentions of trauma, mental illness, and psychiatric medications, a character having a panic attack, and--because it is a sex pollen fic--sex while characters are the sex-pollen-equivalent of intoxicated. However, the sex is consensual.  
> __________


End file.
